When Christmas hurts; grief and the empty chair

Christmas is often described as a season of joy, togetherness, and celebration. But for those who are grieving, it can feel like a time that magnifies absence — the empty chair at the table, the traditions that no longer fit, the ache of memories that feel impossible to honour.

My first Christmas without Mum
For me, the first Christmas after losing my Mum — over a decade ago now — was overwhelming. Christmas had always been her favourite time of year. She had spent so much of the year planning it — thinking about the way the house would look, what she would cook, gifts, crackers, cards, how everything had to be “perfect.” Suddenly, I didn’t know what to do. Should I continue her traditions? Could I celebrate her as part of my Christmas, or was that even possible?

Walking into shops that first Christmas, hearing the music, seeing adverts of “happy families” around a big table — it all felt like it would never fit my reality. It was such a shock. I barely coped at all. I was exhausted, and so deeply grateful to stay with my in-laws, who cared for me when I couldn’t care for myself.

Finding a way through
The pain of that first Christmas is something I remember clearly. Over time, I’ve found my way. I’ve created new traditions that feel meaningful to me, and in honour of my Mum, I now buy a bunch of yellow roses — her favourite — and spend quiet time reflecting, journalling and remembering Christmases past as well as being present in my here and now. I like to talk about Mum at the Christmas table, remember how she struggled to pronounce the word “Prosecco,” delighted in giving "perfect" gifts, and how she would get ruffled if anything didn’t go exactly to plan. For me, this helps to bring her into the now and keeps her memory alive — she may not be sitting at the dining table, but the love is still there. She’s never forgotten.

This is something I’m seeing in many clients at the moment — navigating grief while trying to work out what the festive season should look like, and what they genuinely want it to look like. Which traditions to keep, and which new traditions might help them honour their lost ones. Finding a balance between reflection and enjoyment can be so hard, especially in those early years after losing someone you love.

If things feel too much, talking might be helpful. Perhaps you have a friend to share with, or a counsellor, or support group. My first experience of therapy was with Cruse Bereavement, at one of their group sessions. I found comfort in hearing I was not alone, and learning how others celebrated their loved ones — attending church services, lighting candles, visiting special places, or eating something their loved one enjoyed. It helped me to think about how unique Mum was, and what I wanted to do to keep her memory, and the love, alive.

Gentle reminders for anyone grieving

• There is no right way to grieve at Christmas.
• It’s okay to feel joy, sadness, both, or neither.
• Small acts of remembrance, like lighting a candle or sharing a memory, can be comforting.
• You don’t have to face the season alone; reaching out for support is brave and healing.

Reflective questions for journalling:

• What traditions or memories bring you comfort during the holidays?
• Are there ways you can gently honour your loved one this year, even in a small gesture?
• What support could help you carry your grief through this season?

If this is your first, fifth, or tenth Christmas after loss, know that you’re not alone and you don’t have to go through it alone. Whatever your grief looks like this year is exactly how it should look, and you must honour it in a way that feels right for you — only you can know what that looks like.

Be gentle with yourself,
Elaine x